LOGLINE: Once the nation’s best and most respected baseball GM, Sandy Alderson has been reduced to trying to revive a moribund franchise in the depths of deepest, darkest Queens. Along with his sharp-witted and adoring protégés, he fights off the seemingly endless series of controversies and crises that beset him while trying to run a sports team in the country’s most bustling metropolis, and still look fantastic while doing it. Can the pressures of such an important job crush this singularly talented and gifted individual genius?

ACT I

The office. J.P. RICCIARDI, PAUL DEPODESTA, and MACKENZIE CARLIN sit in a bank of cubes, typing away on their computers with their backs to one another.

DEPODESTA
Do you ever feel completely meaningless?

RICCIARDI
No, that’s just you.

DEPODESTA
I’m serious. Sometimes I feel like I’m just here to serve others.

RICCIARDI
Yes, your boss. It’s called “having a job.”

DEPODESTA
No, I mean it just feels like I’m here to advance a plot. You know, so someone else can have a person to bounce dialogue off of.

CARLIN
Not me. I am fully in charge of my own universe.

DEPODESTA
How do you know that? How do you know you’re not some bit player in a drama that’s not even about you? Like, the camera just lingers on you only when you’re talking to the “star,” and the rest of your existence is completely without meaning or purpose?

CARLIN
I have never thought that in my entire life. I went to Harvard!

A large man covered in head to toe in umpire’s gear, including mask, quickly zips past their cube bank. Only DEPODESTA seems to notice him.

DEPODESTA
Did you guys see that?

CARLIN
See what?

DEPODESTA
An umpire just ran by.

RICCIARDI
Umpires aren’t allowed inside front offices. You know that.

DEPODESTA
So maybe we should report him.

CARLIN
If it’s a problem, I’m sure someone will take care of it.

DEPODESTA
Don’t you understand? This is our chance to be part of the drama, to act before the camera cuts away!

Cut to: SANDY ALDERSON’s office. He sits at his desk, talking on the phone. Bright sunlight trails in from his windows, and we see a beautiful green ballfield cascading off into the distance behind him.

ALDERSON
Yes, you can quote me on that…Yes, I do believe that before the decade is out, there will be a cyborg in the major leagues, and I have no issue with that…Should cyborgs be allowed to take performance enhancing drugs? Well, that’s a separate issue. Let’s wait until cyborgs actually exist before we tackle that conundrum.

The UMPIRE pulls a gun from his pocket, walks over to ALDERSON’s desk, grabs the phone with his free hand, and hangs it up.

ALDERSON
Mike Lupica is going to be very upset if he thinks I hung up on him.

UMPIRE
You’d do better to concern yourself with the gun I have pointed at you, Mr. Alderson.

ALDERSON
I’ve spent some time in the Marines, sir, so I try not to worry about guns until they go off. Didn’t catch your name, by the way.

UMPIRE
My name is not important. I am foot soldier in the Arbiters Liberation Army, and I’m here to take you hostage.

ALDERSON
Would Ted be okay? I’ve always liked the name Ted.

UMPIRE
Your glibness will not save you, Mr. Alderson. This is a very serious matter, and I suggest you take it as such, because I have no qualms about ventilating your smug little body.

ALDERSON
Forgive me. I was in 17 hostage situations last season alone, so I forget it’s not a complete bore to everyone. Please, sit on my couch, put your feet up. I imagine we’re going to be here for a while as you make your demands and lecture me on something or other.

UMPIRE
SILENCE! I am in charge of this situation! I will not be condescended to by my hostage and I WILL be heard! But I am a little tired after skulking all the way here, so if you don’t mind…

ALDERSON
By all means.

The UMPIRE sits down on ALDERSON’s couch and takes off his shoes.

UMPIRE
Oof. My dogs are barkin’ today.

ACT II

ALDERSON’s office. The shoeless UMPIRE sits on the couch training his gun on ALDERSON, who remains at his desk, looking not the least bit worried.

UMPIRE
Do you remember 1999?

ALDERSON
The year or the song?

UMPIRE
What were you doing back in 1999, Mr. Alderson?

ALDERSON
At my age, I can barely remember what I was doing last week. So why don’t you just come out and tell me why you’re here.

UMPIRE
Very well. Back in 1999, you were working in the commissioner’s office at the same time that me and my umpiring brethren attempted to claim what was rightfully ours and defeat Bud Selig’s reactionary pigs.

ALDERSON
I remember it more like you umpires getting your panties in a knot about enforcing a new strike zone and your union president going mad with power and trying to engineer a backdoor strike. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, of course.

UMPIRE
In September of that year, you dismissed 22 of the finest umpires to ever judge the game. It was you who oversaw the destruction of our union and the taking of food from our families’ mouths.

ALDERSON
Again, I recall things differently. Namely, that you guys resigned and we accepted those resignations. And we hired most of you back, eventually.

UMPIRE
We swore revenge that day, Mr. Alderson, and now I have come to collect. We wanted you to get fat and comfortable, to think that you were completely in the clear, and then when you least expected it, pounce when it hurt the most.

ALDERSON
I figured you might do something like this, so it’s actually coming when I most expected it. I even penciled it in on my calendar. See? [holds up desk calendar]

UMPIRE
Give me that! [snatches desk calendar] I’ll be damned, so you did. [scrutinizes calendar some more] Say, did you have lunch at Balthazar yesterday?

ALDERSON
Yes. Some say the whole Tribeca thing is out of style by now, but I’ve never cared much for style.

UMPIRE
I totally agree, you know…Never mind that! [hoists gun again] This is still a hostage situation and by god, you are going to act like a hostage and pay me the proper fear and respect!

ALDERSON
My vast experience with hostage situations tells me the hostage taker usually issues a series of demands. Otherwise, you’re just a guy pointing a gun at someone for no discernible reason.

UMPIRE
I was getting to that! Here’s what you’re going to do, Mr. Alderson. You’re going to call up the commissioner’s office. You’re going to tell them I have a gun to your head, and you’re going to also tell them that if they ever want to see their precious Sandy Alderson again, they must immediately reinstate all of my disgraced colleagues on this list. [hands over list]

ALDERSON
I’m pretty sure half of these guys are dead.

UMPIRE
Do as I say!

ALDERSON
As you wish. [dials phone] Hi, Roberta? This is Sandy…Good, good. Listen, I’m in sort of a hostage situation, so if you could patch me through to Bud…Yes, again. It’s an umpire this time…Alright, give my best to Joe and the kids.

Cut to the cubicle bank. DEPODESTA is still brooding while RICCIARDI and CARLIN type away.

DEPODESTA
I’m just saying, blowing the whistle on this weirdo running around the office could be my chance to become the star of the show. My show.

RICCIARDI
So do it. Who’s stopping you?

DEPODESTA
I just can’t believe you guys are gonna sit there while something dangerous or weird or amazing is going on.

UMPIRE
I was going to kill you the second I walked in this room, Mr. Alderson! Because of your hardline stance against us all those years ago, now we umpires have to endure the slings and arrows of the peons in the stands. Every night on every regional sports network, it’s “this umpire blew this call,” or “that umpire’s a hot head.” We used to be kings, Mr. Alderson. Kings! That all ended when you accepted our resignations. Now we’re servants, bowing and scraping whenever the mighty Bud Selig calls our names, and pretty soon we’ll be replaced by video monitors and computers, and it’s all thanks to you! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you!

ALDERSON
Well, for one thing, you’ve got that gun aimed at my hip. There’s no way a shot there would kill me.

UMPIRE
It’s not aimed at your hip! It’s aimed at your heart.

ALDERSON
Seriously, you think that gun is aimed at my heart? Look where the barrel’s pointing. That’s nowhere near the heart.

UMPIRE
I say it’s aimed at your heart and I got the only vote that counts, pal.

ALDERSON
You gotta be kidding me! Yeah, that gun’s aimed at my heart all right. What are you, blind? What a joke!

UMPIRE
That’s it pal, you are outta here! Hit the showers!

ALDERSON shrugs and leaves the office. The UMPIRE folds his arm defiantly.

ALDERSON
Yeesh. God, no. Like I don’t have enough drama in my life already. Oh, that reminds me, there’s a would-be kidnapper in my office.

DEPODESTA
What?!

ALDERSON
No bigee, just a disgruntled former umpire. I thwarted him with the classic Bugs Bunny Deflection. Poor sap’s gun wasn’t even loaded, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him. My cell phone’s dead. Could someone call security up here to keep him tied up until the police arrive?

Stadium parking lot, dusk. ALDERSON walks briskly to his car, whistling quietly to himself. He pulls his keys from his pocket and presses the unlock button. His car responds with a brief “beep-beep”. As ALDERSON nears his car, a gruff, gravely voice imitates the “beep-beep” noise. Startled, ALDERSON wheels around.

ALDERSON
I’m sorry, pal, I gave at the office.

We now see the “beeper.” It is JOSE CANSECO, wearing a muscle tee, Zubaz, and flexing a hand exerciser in his left fist. His clothes are faded from many washings and he looks vaguely dirty, as if he hasn’t showered in a while, although his mullet remains majestic.

CANSECO
Not looking for money, Sandy. Just a tryout.

ALDERSON
Jose, is that you?

CANSECO
In the flesh. The tanned, rippling flesh. I won for you before, Sandy. I can do it again.

ALDERSON
Jose, get your life on track. Then we’ll talk.

CANSECO
How ‘bout you give me a tryout, and I don’t go to the press with what I know.

A vague look of panic crosses ALDERSON’s face, before he regains his composure and pats CANSECO on the shoulder.

ALDERSON
Good to see you again, Jose. You take care.

ALDERSON gets in his car and drives off. CANSECO stares at him intently as he goes.

CANSECO
Oh, I’ll take care, alright. I’ll take real good care.

CANSECO pulls an enormous bottle of Muscle Milk from his back pocket and slams the whole thing as the scene fades out.